salt stains and fingerprints
by exhorts
Summary: They'll remember only our smiles 'cause that's all they'd seen. —a year of Finnick and Annie. For Caesar's Palace. / If this is glowing, Annie feels sorry for fireflies.


**author's notes:**

So, uh. Written for the June Oneshot Challenge on Caesar's Palace, the prompt being "Alternate Universe". I'd put trigger warnings but they're very spoilery, so be careful.

This is loosely based on two things: the song, _The Approaching Curve_ by Rise Against and some themes from Looking for Alaska by John Green.

* * *

_as we were, so perfect, so happy. they'll remember only our smiles 'cause that's all they'd seen._

* * *

**january.**

"Congratulations, Mrs. Odair! You're having a baby boy, and it appears to a healthy one, too."

Annie wants to cry. With joy, she thinks. Or maybe sadness. She's not sure, but it's probably a bit of both. _A boy, Finnick, a boy! _But Finnick's not here with her — he's away on business, and has been for the past week.

Annie misses him.

He'll be home tomorrow, and then she can tell him the news. And smile, and laugh, and they'll dance together to no music. Like on their first date. Like the day he proposed.

Annie looks up at the doctor — he's a tall man with kind brown eyes — and smiles, thanks him for the news, and tells him she'll see him at their next appointment. He seems shocked by her lack of response, but she's waiting to celebrate.

**february.**

She's running late — _really _late, she was supposed to be there an hour ago — so she doesn't stop by the television room to say goodbye to Finnick. He's the reason she's late, anyway.

As she's driving to the restaurant, her focus drifts to baby names, as it often does lately. She wants Nathan, but Finnick wants his son to be named after him. Annie, not so politely, told him that she thought that — naming a baby after yourself, someone you know, or someone you idolize — was the most ridiculous thing ever. Her great aunt Annaliese agrees.

When she gets to the restaurant, Gabi is still waiting for her. Annie had called to tell her she was running late, of course. Gabi stands up to hug her and says, "You've finally got that pregnancy glow, eh?" to which Annie laughs, sits down, and looks at the menu.  
**  
march.**

If _this _is glowing, Annie feels sorry for fireflies. She stares at herself in the mirror and rubs her swollen belly. She's a mess and she knows it — yet Finnick still tells her she's beautiful every day.

But Annie doesn't feel beautiful. She feels like a baby is growing instead of her. Everything below her waist is sore and swelling and deciding to go to work is becoming increasingly difficult. She just wants to stay in bed and ingest copious amounts of peanut butter ice cream, and is that really too much to ask?  
**  
april.**

Annie puts in for maternity leave at work and doesn't really wait for the board to accept or deny it. She stays at home and sleeps and hurts.

There's pain in her lower back and she keeps forgetting when Finnick tells her he'll be home. Her breasts feel like they're on fire and she nearly screams if she bumps into something. Standing for too long proves to be problematic, and Annie wants this baby _out of her._

**may.**

As it turns out, the baby — he's a Nathan, the pregnant woman always wins — wants out of Annie, too. Annie hasn't been feeling well for the last week, and when she finally got to sleep at around one o'clock, the sleep is anything but restful.

She wakes up two hours later, but it feels like she barely closed her eyes. The sheets are soaked and she swears and notes to herself that she might want to buy adult diapers. She pushes on Finnick's shoulder, none too gently, and when he grumbles an incoherent response, Annie says, "We have to change the sheets."

Finnick stumbles out of bed and says, "Why?"

"I had to pee and I didn't wake up," Annie says and moves to sit up. She stops. "Finnick," she says.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't wet the bed."

"What do you mean?" he asks, and then almost instantly, "_Oh_."  
**  
june.**

"What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Odair?"

"It's Annie. I — I'm not entirely sure. I've been having trouble sleeping and I keep snapping at my husband for small things. I've also been crying a lot more lately, and I can't focus on anything."

"And when did you give birth?"

"Ten days ago."

"That's perfectly normal, Annie. It's called 'baby blues'. If your problems don't go away within the next few weeks, come visit me, okay?"

Annie says, "Of course," and hangs up.

**july.**

Finnick doesn't like the idea, but Annie starts interviewing for nannies. "I'm just too tired, Finnick," Annie says. "I never get to sleep at night. _You_ could get up to feed Nathan or change him or soothe, but do you? No. This is my decision."

**august.**

Annie tells herself she's getting better.

**september.**

"Have you talked to any of your friends lately? I miss seeing Gabi around."

"She's been busy with work, so we've just been talking on the phone," Annie says shortly.

Finnick's silent for a moment, thinking. "When?"

"Does it _matter_?"

He sits up straight. "I guess not. How's Marcy?"

"I only talk to Marcy at work; she's not that interesting. Can you stop talking? I'm trying to watch this show."

"Okay."

**october.**

Annie wakes up to the phone ringing. She yells at Finnick for not answering it, but he doesn't respond. Annie figures he must be downstairs with Nathan.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Odair!"

Tasha.

"Hello, Tasha." Annie glances at the clock. 7:30 am. "Will you be here soon?"

"That's actually why I'm calling, Mrs. Odair. I can't watch Nathan today. My mom is really sick, so I have to catch a flight to Orlando to be with her."

"That's okay, Tasha!" Annie's voice is bright and bubbly. "I've been meaning to spend more time with Nathan. I hope your mom'll be okay!"

There's a pause.

"Thank you, Mrs. Odair." She sounds surprised. "I usually give Nathan a bath around noon. It'd be good to keep the schedule, if that's okay."

"Of course. Have a safe trip."

At noon, Annie lays Nathan down into his bath bed. She sits down and leans against the wall — I'm just resting my eyes, she tells herself — and falls asleep.

She wakes up to Finnick screaming.

**november.**

They don't hold wakes for babies.  
**  
december.**

Annie doesn't care about anything anymore. The investigation doesn't last long — "why didn't your doctor put you on medication months ago?" — and now Annie is better, they say.

Finnick can't look at her. He blames her for Nathan's death. She doesn't think he's wrong.

She's driving to her mother's house for Christmas and she can't stop crying. Finnick had to stay home for business — not that he wants anything to do with you, Annie tells herself — so it's the first time she's been alone since that day. It's the first time she's allowed herself to cry.

The road is curvy and she's going a bit too fast. She can see a bend in the distance and makes a split-second decision.

* * *

The police would have thought Annie couldn't slow down in time if not for the fresh skid marks on the road, just before the curve.

* * *

_long since dried, when we are found, are the tears in which we had drowned. as we were, so perfectly happy._


End file.
